Page 1 of Power Play

one

. . .

Al

There’s a baby on my doorstep.

Did I take a puck to the head at practice? Or is this some kind of weird-ass fever dream?

A horn honks down the street, startling me, the baby, and the woman holding it, and a solitary cry rips through the air before the squirming pink bundle settles again.

Nope. Definitely not a dream. The squawk was as real as it gets.

“I’m so sorry,” says the woman holding the baby. She’s gorgeous, that’s for certain, with chocolate-brown hair falling in soft waves and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. I’ve also never met her before. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

My eyes drop to the child in her arms. What the hell? It looks like… a baby. I don’t know ages. Not a newborn. Its cheeks are chubby and full, glistening with drool. Given the pink on its outfit, I’m guessing it’s a girl.

Note to self: Don’t call a baby an “it.”

“Can I help you?” My voice comes out in a croak.

I don’t know this woman or what she wants from me, but as a professional hockey player, I’ve been warned about the manipulative people who will try to sink their money-hungry claws into me.

“You don’t know me,” she says, bouncing the little girl. “But you might remember my sister. Carter Matthews?”

I shake my head. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“You’re Alberto Gonzales. You’re a hockey player, and you used to play for Arizona.” Her mouth twists in a frown. “Fifteen months ago, you slept with my sister.”

“Okay, and…? What do you want?” I’m trying not to sound petulant or rude, but as a professional athlete, I’ve heard plenty about guys who fall for the sob story hook, line, and sinker, and then it turns out the entire thing is fabricated.

The woman takes a deep breath. “Last week…” She swallows hard, her face crumpling. “Carter was in a car accident. She didn’t make it.”

My stomach knots at the pain on her face. If I’d lost either of my siblings… “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“The thing is…” Her blue eyes meet mine, her unshed tears squeezing my heart in a vise. “I promised I wouldn’t do this, but legally, I’m not her guardian.”

“I’m not following.” I glance down at the baby, who’s happily sucking on a toy, then back to the woman.

“You’re her father.”

It’s like a sucker punch to the face. The three words I never expected to hear.

I shake my head, trying to process, but this still isn’t making sense. “What are you talking about?”

She hefts the baby in her arms. “This is Emmy. Meet your daughter.”

Panic rises in me, threatening to send me over the ledge into a full-blown panic attack. Black dots hover in the corner of my eyes and I swallow, hard, against the bile in my throat. If this is my kid… I need to be strong. She’s already missing her mom, so the last thing she needs is a father who can’t take care of her.

My stomach twists, half dreading and half accepting this as my new reality. I don’t want to believe it’s true, but I have to hear out this woman. I have to give her a chance.

With my foot on the threshold, I stumble back, nearly tripping and falling flat on my ass. I catch myself on the doorframe. “Why don’t you come inside?”

The Mattapan townhouse I grew up in feels even smaller than usual, the walls closing in on me. As the woman steps into the house, I practically sprint to the kitchen, where I pour myself a shot of tequila. Fire licks down my suddenly dry throat as I swallow the burn of the alcohol, and I reach for a glass, filling it with water. I down that, too.

She stands by the door, shifting her weight from one foot to the next like she’s waiting for me to stop freaking out. The baby babbles, completely unaware of the tension, waving around a hot-pink silicone toy.

Meanwhile, I’m trying not to pass the fuck out. Or throw up. Or crumble under the weight of what the fuck?